Overwatch: Observation
by Megan1289
Summary: Talon has received its newest test subject, in the form of a man raving about "the melody". Moira attempts to make her observations. ((A series of one-shots centering around Sigma. Strictly based in canon, with no OCs or pairings.))
1. Observation

Moira observed. With how incredibly unstable her new subject was, that was all she could do. Her only view into the room, her only method of observation, was through a small security camera tucked in the corner of the padded walls.

The man laid on the ground in the straitjacket, his mouth quivering softly. Incoherent words were occasionally mumbled loud enough to be picked up by the camera's audio. Something to do with a "melody" and "the universe".

If the man wasn't so clearly out of his mind, Moira might have enjoyed talking to him. Curiosity burned within her. This man was part of an experiment, an experiment that had completely changed his genetic makeup to the point where it was barely recognizable as human. Was that what he had intended? Did he consider his experiment as successful? After all, failures in the eyes of ethics were not always failures in the eyes of true science.

She knew that the experiment involved black holes, but that was the extent of her knowledge. It was the extent of Talon's knowledge, anyway. It was knowledge she was hoping to further.

But she was unable to learn more from this dusty security room. Observation had shown no signs of change in the subject. Minute after minute, the only image of the room was that of a old man on the ground, speaking in absolutes. She did not doubt that the man was unstable, but perhaps he was not as volatile as Talon was lead to believe. Even if he was, she was certain she could escape the grasp of his supposed powers with ease.

It was time to further this research.

* * *

The double-door lock that led into her subject's containment cell took far too long to operate. Moira tapped her foot with impatience as the large outside door swung closed, and a security scan was initiated. She quickly tapped a nearby button with her finger to disable the scan. She was bringing objects into the chamber, yes, but they were diagnostic tools; tools she would need for readings of his condition and further samples of his DNA.

After another lengthy pause, the smaller but still armored inside door slid open. For the first time, she looked directly upon her new subject. He looked unchanged from her previous view of him, as if he was frozen in time.

The padded room dulled the sound of her footsteps as she approached the man, but the vibrations she caused to travel through the ground seemed to wake the man out of his dream. He opened his eyes and looked to the ceiling, dazed.

There were codewords, supposedly, to help manage this subject. Supposedly they were used by the staff of the government retention facility to stabilize him. Moira supposed it was worth a try.

"Sigma?"

The man took a sharp breath and his eyes returned to focus. With a small hiss in his breath, he replied. "Sigma. . . present."

Moira did not reply. She walked around the the side of the man and pulled out a scanning tool. She briefly flicked the holographic bar over him, and notes on his condition came up on the screen. Physically, he was not injured, though 'healthy' was not the right word to describe him either. Done with that, she put the scanner away and brought out more tools from the pockets of her lab coat.

Her work was interrupted by a quiet voice. "W-where am I? How. . . how did I get here? Who are you?"

Moira did not respond, but just for a moment, her eyes met with his. Mistake.

"Why am I locked up? What are you going to do to me?" The man whimpered, his voice trembling. His body tensed.

Moira detected that his pulse had picked up. Obvious even under the thick straitjacket, the man's chest still rose and fell, quicker, quicker, quicker still. Other tools currently in her pocket began to chirp quietly, their sensors detecting fluxes of instability.

That was when Moira remembered she was currently sharing a room with a weapon instead of a test subject.

"Sigma." She said sternly.

The man began to weep, his body shaking with every sob. As he did so, Moira felt a faint pang of nausea, as if she were falling. She gasped.

"Sigma, respond. Sigma!" She strengthened her voice, but the feeling only increased.

One of her diagnostics tools chirped louder, only now, she noticed, because it was no longer in her pocket. It floated in the air alongside her. She quickly grabbed it and put it back in her lab coat, pinching the pocket closed. Instinctively, she tried to take a step back, but as soon as her foot left the ground, she floated backwards. Her heart raced. She couldn't focus herself enough to fade.

The man continued to ramble in between his sobbing. "Please don't hurt me. Please don't! I don't even know who I-"

In an instant, Moira was thrown against the ground. She landed on her back, knocking all the air out of her, before something continued to squeeze down upon her body even harder. She gasped for breath.

"HOLD IT TOGETHER." The man screamed. Moira tried to lift her head up and look, but it felt as if lead weights had been placed on her neck. Spots appeared in her vision and her head began to ache.

But as suddenly as it started, it was gone. The pressure lifted. Moira gulped down breaths of fresh air, coughing and sputtering as she did so. Her ears rang faintly. Her throat burned.

When her focus returned, she sat up from the ground, clutching her head. She nearly flinched when she met the gaze of her subject. The man twitched, his head tilting to one side before righting itself. His eyes were pale and weary.

"Are you alright?" He asked. His lips barely moved.

Moira simply looked at him, stunned to silence.

The man looked her up and down in return. "You look. . . like a scientist. Are we back on the station?"

A station. Moira had read this subject's history. It was where this man had conducted the experiment that made him this way. If he believed he was back there, then perhaps he would be calmer. Perhaps she could get somewhere. "Yes."

"Oh! I'm sorry. I must have dozed off." The man blinked to her reply. "Say, I don't recognize your face. Are you new here?"

"My name is Dr. O'Deorain." She said stiffly.

"I don't recognize your name." He looked down at the ground, before looking up again. "My name is Dr. De Kuiper."

Moira purposefully tried to soften her voice. "Can you tell me more about your experiment, doctor?"

"The experiment. Yes, of course. I'm afraid the full outline in is my office, but if you would like to see some of the basic gravitational equations, I could oblige. . ." the man looked down to his arms, which were bound. He flinched upright, and the same dazed look he had when he first woke up entered his eyes.

"Doctor De Kuiper." Moira reached out her hand and grabbed his shoulder firmly. "Do not worry. You are safe."

"I am safe." He repeated, and he relaxed again.

"You are. Now, can you tell me about your experiment?"

He shook his head and gave a nervous smile. "No, not with my hands tied like this. And, I don't see a whiteboard around here. Do you have a marker? Perhaps I could write on the walls, o-or you could write on them for me."

Moira laughed slightly. "It appears I left them all in my lab. I do not."

"That's alright." There was a look of kindness in his pale eyes. "Perhaps another time."

"Indeed." Moira replied. Another thought crossed her mind. While he was temporarily stable, perhaps it was possible to accomplish her original goal after all. She searched her pockets for her tissue sampler, only to find it missing. She looked behind her. It sat a few cushions away. She reached back and grabbed it.

"What is that?" Her test subject asked.

"It's a tissue sampler." She didn't look up as she fiddled with the tool's settings.

"Oh?"

"Genetics is my," she paused, "side hobby. May I swab your cheek?"

Actually asking her subjects for their genetic material was so foreign to her. She was used to simply taking it without regard. None of her previous subjects were ever a worry for her. None of them could ever do something in protest, for they needed her, and needed her services. But now, she needed him. She needed him to cooperate. He had the power to choose not to cooperate. She could practically feel the pressure crushing down again, squeezing the life out of her and-

The man smiled again. "I don't know much about genetics. Why bother when astrophysics is so much more fascinating?"

Moira took a quick breath and clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. "It is, but-"

"Sure, I'll donate a sample. Just don't try and clone me." He cut her off with the same happy tone, with no regard to her obvious nerves.

Moira leaned forward, and he opened his mouth. She took a cotton swab that was dispensed by her tool and quickly swabbed the inside of his mouth. Then, she inserted the swab back into her machine. The data of his full genome would take some time to be fully analyzed, but she certainly didn't have to wait here for it to be processed.

"That's all I need, doctor." Moira said.

The man closed his mouth. "Are you leaving me now?"

"Yes. Goodbye." She stood up. It was not that long of a distance to the exit door.

"Please, come back." His eyes followed her up. Moira froze.

"I have to go now." She said slowly. She took deep breaths to steady her pulse.

"Come back and tell me when the experiment chamber is ready for my experiment, I mean." He said, twitching slightly. "It should be soon."

Moira did not respond as she walked hurriedly to the door. She wiped the sweat off her hand on her lab coat, then put her finger on the panel next to the door. The door slid open, and before it was even open all of the way, she stepped through it.

* * *

The double-door lock that led out of her subject's containment cell was far to quick to open. The doors were several inches thick, but not thick enough, she worried. If her subject was able to toss her around like a ragdoll without even being conscious that he was doing so, who knew what he was capable of doing on purpose. A chill went down her spine. She shook her head. For the first time, that was a theory she did not want to test.

Fear. Fear was not a normal emotion for her. Fear of the unknown was silly, illogical, and it impeded progress. Fear limited the mind's ability to question and investigate fully.

Perhaps it was good, Moira observed, that she finally felt it again.


	2. Vertigo

**Author's note: This chapter is a little companion piece to the previous story. Where or when it takes place in relation to it is up to the reader.**

* * *

The man was floating.

Up and down in the room, he bobbed. His body tumbled, unchained, unharnessed, end over end. His eyes were wide, but his breathing was steady.

The walls of the padded room passed his vision an innumerable amount of times. Each wall looked the same as the next. Tumbling, tumbling, tumbling he was. How much time he had spent doing this was a mystery to him. Time was a mystery. Space and time.

All the walls looked the same.

He took a sharp breath. Where was he? He was floating, released from gravity. He must be on the station. His experiment awaited him, but- no! No it wasn't! This room, it was far to large and unusual to be aboard the station. A padded room. A cell.

That meant that he was. . . imprisoned. Where? Imprisoned on Earth? But then why was he still floating?

Why couldn't he tell which way was up, and which way was down?

He whimpered. The walls passed him by, spinning and dancing. Dizziness overtook him.

He cried out, to anybody. Help. Help him. It was getting harder to see now. The blackness of the void crept up in the corners of his vision, and somewhere in the distance, a faint music began to play. A melody.

Louder and louder it became, intangible yet so hauntingly _present_. He could feel the vibrations brushing his skin, each note plucking at his most basic senses as if he were the instrument. He closed his eyes and tried to hum along.

Suddenly, the melody stopped. He opened his eyes. The vertigo returned. He was so close. So close to hearing it, to understanding it, and now it was gone, like the light of a dying star. He nearly screamed, but before he could do so, he heard the faint sound of footsteps against one of the cushioned walls. He drew himself inwards, and stayed deathly still.

"Sigma?" A voice, a hauntingly familiar yet completely foreign voice called out to him.

Present. Present, he felt compelled to respond, but he couldn't. He was not present. He did not know where he was at the moment. The voice repeated the name again. He shook his head.

"Dr. De Kuiper?"

Something twitched within him. For a split second, he was in front of the whiteboard again. The equations, the equations were correct, it was simply time to test them and to put them to use-

The feeling of rotation brought him back to the present. His body had tumbled once more. Now he faced the source of the voice. A figure in a white labcoat hung upside down. Standing. Harnessed. His lip quivered.

"Are you present?" The voice repeated, sterner.

He sputtered, his mouth moving faster than his mind. His voice shook. "I c-can't stop."

The voice did not reply.

"I don't know which way is down." He whispered.

His body continued to tumble. He was going to turn away from the figure. He struggled, but his arms were bound and his legs touched nothing. He couldn't control his breathing. he couldn't control anything. He kicked and screamed.

Then, something touched him. A hand, smooth and gentle. It stopped his rotation. He settled. Another hand joined the first. Together they pushed and pulled, changing his position. He closed his eyes.

Gently, gently, the hands grabbed one of his legs and guided it downwards. His foot brushed the rough cotton of the cushioned pads. He opened his eyes to see the figure standing, upright in front of him.

"This way is down." The figure pointed to where their feet were. Where his feet were.

Relief swept through him. Things in him relaxed where they were tightened before, and a hum in his ears that he hadn't noticed prior to now faded out. Weight suddenly returned to his body, and he fell to the ground. It pressed against him like a warm blanket, of which he curled up under.

He did not know how long he reveled in the feeling, but when he looked up, he found that the figure was gone.


	3. Remorse

Gravity. Such a trivial limitation. Sigma defied such limitations. It was in his very nature, to bend and twist it to his will. It brought him a joyful glee that was unmatched by any other feeling.

The more he used it, the happier he became. Lifting, dropping, pushing, pulling. Each time he did so, he felt more in tune. In tune with a melody- he wasn't sure if it was quite the right one, but it was a melody nevertheless. It was more than satisfying enough.

Two more figures came up to his right. With a flick of his wrist, he sent them away, back to wherever they came from. He heard a distant screaming, but that was all it was- distant. Not of any impact. Inconsequential.

A voice drifted into his mind through the comm in his ear. He knew this voice as only a passing stranger. It was a commander, one that he must obey, but exactly who the voice belonged to was not clear to him, nor did it matter.

"Sigma, there are five entrenched targets behind the armored vehicle. Take them out."

For a split second, his eyes focused. Ahead was the car, just as the voice commanded. Five fools hid behind it? How laughable.

He held his hand up and his palm out. His hand was shaking, shaking from the something pounding within him, but it was not the right thing. He tensed and closed his eyes to focus, expelling the surface song of violence in hopes to summon the one much more important. A familiar hum came over him.

It started with a few hollow tones, before exploding into a symphony. The melody, _the _melody, rushed through his mind and throughout his body. It was too much. No, it was too much! Too much to contain!

He flung both of his hands in front of him, trying to hide himself from the gaze of the infinitely black void that threatened to engulf him. He felt the melody play him, swelling from his chest, and expelling itself through his arms.

He was knocked backwards and fell to the ground. Scrawled writing flitted in and out of his vision. Slowly, slowly, he began to recognize them as equations. Mass, density, time. Familiar, constant, and comforting.

Doctor Siebren De Kuiper opened his eyes and stared at the blue sky above. It was a sky he didn't remember seeing for a very, very long time.

Where was he? Why was he outside? And why. . . why did the air smell like dust and smoke?

He sat up slowly, realizing that his head and body ached. From what, he could not remember right now. He blinked and rubbed his eyes to get the dust out, and he looked around.

He was on a street, or what remained of one. Flaming wreckage and debris was to either side. In front of him, at least a hundred meters away, laid a massive armored car. Siebren wasn't sure he'd ever seen a vehicle so massive and obviously military-use.

He stood up, wobbling on his feet and noticing he was barefoot. Why was he barefoot? The road looked covered in sharp debris. If he had really walked here, how did he not cut his feet? More importantly, how would he continue forward without doing so?

He looked down to find a route through the debris, and found one with relative ease. He took a few shaky steps forward. The armor (or whatever he was wearing on his topside) was very heavy and made him top-heavy. Once more he wondered how he got out here with all of these unusual qualities.

As he continued onward, scanning the ground for a clear path, he observed a trail of. . . something. It was too far away to get a definitive look at it, especially with all of the dust in the air. He squinted and kept walking, trying to discern what it could be.

That was before he stepped into something squishy and _warm. _He recoiled, nearly tripping backwards again. He looked down to see a puddle of liquid.

His feet were red.

Images flashed before his vision. Screaming. Blood. Humans being flung over cars and into walls, singing then being cut off by silence.

Silence was all Siebren could hear. His throat tightened. A subtle hum spread throughout his body, and unbeknownst to him his body lifted off from the ground.

There was a twinge in his gut, and suddenly the dust that once was suspended above the ground now rushed down to meet it. Bodies. There were five bodies in front of him.

_"Take them out."_

Memories that did not feel like his returned. It was almost as if his eyes were a camera that was left rolling even after it was thought to have ran out of battery- film coming back that looked so familiar yet completely unplaceable. The armored car, overturning. The feeling of power. The melody-

He had done this. He had done all of this. He covered his face and began to sob.

"Sigma."

This voice was familiar, and it sent his mind tumbling through past and present to try and reconcile it with his memory. He turned to face its source and looked up from his hands. A red-headed scientist. The red-headed scientist. Dr. O'Deorain, was it not?

She was here just in time to see that he had just murdered five people. Siebren panicked, words both to question and to try and explain came and then slipped from his grasp. Instead he buried his face in his hands once more and shook.

Someone came up and touched his shoulder. He peaked through his fingers to see Dr. O'Deorain. The expression on her face was unreadable.

"Are you present?" She asked, sternly.

"I hurt them. I hurt them all." He choked out between sobs.

Dr. O'Deorain's hand left his shoulder. He curled inwards and turned to face away.

There was a pause before she spoke in an even and steady voice. "You had no other choice."

"I hurt them! I-I. . . I killed them!" He cried, trying to drown her out. "They're dead!"

"They were going to hurt you, Siebran. You were merely defending yourself." She continued.

"No, no!"

"You had no other choice." She repeated.

Did he?

. . .

No, he did not. He did not have another choice. He did not! He repeated that sentence, over and over again in his mind like a mantra. He took a deep breath and wiped the tears away from his face.

"Come now, Siebran." Moira's soothing voice swept over him once more. "It is time to rest. You've done well today."

He had done well. That was all that mattered. He looked upon Moira and smiled. "Rest sounds nice. I've got a pounding headache."

Together they traveled to an indistinct-looking jet, both familiar and not at the same time. By muscle routine, he went up the ramp and sat himself down in one of the jump seats. Moira arrived beside him.

"Dr. O'Deorain?" he looked over to her, "there is one thing I would like to say."

"Mhm?"

"You said that what I did today was necessary. The violence, that is."

"Correct." She grunted.

"Well, in the future. . ." he took a shaky breath. ". . . I'd rather not."

Moira did not reply.


	4. Of Things Unknown

_The caged bird sings._

__Subject Sigma felt the effects of the sedatives begin to wear off. Sensation returned to his world, and he felt that he was. . . in a gurney. Odd. He remembered he was being transported somewhere, but where he had forgotten. And now, the sedative was wearing off. He was still being transported. That wasn't normal.

He closed his eyes, desperate for a few more moments of consciousness. He traced the outline of his own body against the bed and breathed deeply. He strained the straps that held him down.

There were vibrations all around him. People, moving. Voices. Things wizzing overhead. Slowly, sound returned to his world. It was faint at first, before blooming into its full volume. He flinched as the sound of gunshots echoed in his eardrums. It was too loud! He wanted to bring his hands up to his ears, but he was strapped down too tight. He grit his teeth.

Then, silence. There was silence in all except for a few light footsteps clicking against the tile floor. Subject Sigma opened his eyes and tried hurriedly to blink away the blurriness. The ceiling was perfectly crisp and white, as always, but the air did not smell quite as crisp as it usually did. Instead, it smelled like. . . iron. Blood?

The footsteps came closer. He shut his eyes again and tried to steady his breathing. He didn't want to be sedated again. He didn't want to fall back into the void. If he pretended to be asleep, perhaps they would leave him be.

"Subject has been found. Prepare for extraction."

The voice was deep and gravelly, unlike any other that Subject Sigma had ever heard before. It certainly did not belong to a nurse. What was going on? He dared to peak his eyes open just a little bit.

In front of him stood a figure in a deep black cloak. His eyes were drawn up to the figure's face- or lack thereof, as it was covered by a ivory white mask. The mask was in the shape of some sort of demonic skull. For an instant it seemed to jump around and scowl, before quickly returning to normal. Subject Sigma looked back to the ceiling, his hair standing on end. His pulse raced.

"Is he awake?" Said another voice. This voice was much smoother and obviously feminine. It had a thick french accent. It sounded like it could have been the voice of a nurse, but Subject Sigma couldn't will himself to look up to check. Whoever these two were, these two strangers, they weren't normal.

Nothing was normal. When was he going to be sedated again? It had to be soon.

"He'd better be. I'm not carrying him." The gravelly voice spoke again. Footsteps came closer. Subject Sigma held his breath.

The white mask appeared against the white ceiling. Subject Sigma didn't even blink. The mask tilted, looking into him. Staring into his soul.

The gaze of the mask relented as it disappeared from his view. Then, there was the sound of cutting. Subject Sigma felt the straps that held him to the gurney fall away. Who were these people? Why were they freeing him? Where were they taking him? What were they going to do with him? His heart beat faster and faster.

As the last strap fell away, he heard the gravelly voice say, "Moira is waiting in the jet outside. She says she can take care of him should he be resistant or distracted. . ."

The voice stopped as Subject Sigma felt his body leave the bed. The ceiling came closer. He absentmindedly reached his hand out to try and touch it. A certain numbness overcame him, like he was in a dream. A faint hum began singing in his ears.

Reality came crashing back in when someone grabbed his leg. He gasped and shut his eyes. He was pulled forward slightly, before being yanked downwards. His bare feet touched the cold floor. He whimpered and shook his head. He tried to curl up and draw his limbs inwards, but only succeeded in bringing the rest of his body down to rest on the floor. He opened his eyes and looked up to find the white mask again. The figure stared him down again, causing him to whimper.

"Stand up." The figure growled.

Subject Sigma tried to cry out, but his throat was so dry that all that came out was a silent croak. He coughed. Words and phrases flew through his mind and he desperately tried to catch them, but he was unsuccessful.

"Stand up!" The figure shouted.

Subject Sigma shakily uncurled his body and rose to partial height. He still bowed beneath the white mask. Finally, words came to him in tangible form, and he babbled them without thinking twice. "What do you want from me? Why are you releasing me? W-who are you?"

"Does it matter?" Another figure walked into his vision. It was a woman, sure, but one unlike any other he had ever seen. Her skin was pale and blue. She was the source of the other voice. "We're here, and you're being freed."

"Freed?" Subject Sigma repeated.

Something came to him in his mind. An incoherent memory, a fragment of a dream forgotten and remembered over and over. He had many dreams under sedation, most of which disappeared when he was allowed to wake, but this one had not left. The endless sea of stars, and a realization-

_It was all an illusion._

Sigma stood up straight. His feet left the ground once more, but this time it was intentional. The two other figures, beneath him now, gazed upon him. Not a word was said.

After a beat, the figure with the mask spoke. "We need to go. You're coming with us."

"Gladly." Sigma replied. Out of one illusion, and into another.

The blue woman walked forwards first, down the hall, and Sigma followed. He saw that there were bodies, bodies of nurses and armed guards, laying on the ground and against the walls. Fools. All of them. His new friends must have taken care of them on there way in to free him. He was not sad to see them go.

Sigma followed the woman and was flanked by the dark figure down the confusing and seemingly endless white halls of the facility. Eventually, they reached a glass door. The room on the other side of the door was dark- no, it wasn't a room. It was the outside. The blue woman pushed on the door and it opened. She held it for him, and gestured with her head for him to follow.

Sigma took a shaky breath. He lowered himself to the ground. The tile was cold, but the air streaming in through the door was warm. Memories came back. A warm summer wind, smelling of plants. A clear, starry night. Stargazing. He wrapped his arms around himself. Maybe this wasn't an illusion. Maybe this was real.

Something pushed on his back, and he stumbled forward, through the door. He felt the edges of sharp gravel beneath his feet, and he breathed the fresh air in deeply. He looked up to see the infinite sky. Dots of light speckled the pitch black of the night. The universe lay spread out before him, not cold and void, but warm and welcoming. Tears came to his eyes as he picked out familiar constellations. Equations came back as well, describing the motion of the heavenly bodies, of gravity and mass and time and space- all singing in perfect harmony. He joined the song with his own now-feeble voice, knowing his part of the melody by heart.

Everything was cut off by the sensation of a needle being jabbed into his arm. The stars began to dance and fade, and he mourned their deaths as the symphony faded into silence. He knew there was no fighting against the inevitability of the darkness of forced sleep.


	5. Control

It was during one of his few moments of haunting clarity that Moira decided to present the gravitational stabilization armor to him.

Within the room before her, Sigma sat up against one of the padded walls. He was not in a straitjacket- not anymore, as it had been proven early on (Moira sobered a bit at the memory) that restricting his upper body had no dampening effect on his powers- so his arm hung loosely at his sides. He stared quietly at the wall across from him. Moira knew the look. It was not one of nerves, nor of distance, nor even one of violent compulsion. He simply. . . existed. One could even say he looked at peace, free from the torment of his mind for a single day.

"Dr. de Kuiper?" Moira called out to him as she stepped foot on the padded floor. She knew better than to use his government-assigned name now. It might bring him back to a state uncontrollable.

The man looked over in her direction as she approached. "Yes, Dr. O'Deorain?"

"I have something to show you." She said simply. "I need you to come with me."

For just a moment, panic entered his face. "I can't leave. You know that. I'm a danger to myself and others. Any moment now and I could simply. . . lose it."

"I will be observing you. At the first sign of change I shall bring you back here." Moira extended her hand down to him. "Come."

He nodded and took her hand. She pulled him up from the ground. His fingers continued to linger in her grasp as they walked out of the room, but he let go once they entered the double-door lock.

"I don't believe I've ever been outside of this room before," he said as he looked over the mechanism.

"You haven't been conscious when you have." Moira looked back at him. "You have been transported in and out for medical checkups. Nothing more."

The larger door to the rest of the base finally rolled open. Moira stepped through immediately.

Dr. de Kuiper lingered in the doorway. "Are you certain this is a good idea?"

She turned to face him, and gestured for him to follow.

Together they walked. Moira knew these dark halls like the back of her hand. They had become her usual haunt, pacing up and down them while trying to formulate and think. For the man beside her it must have been a completely different experience. His eyes darted up and down the corridors, flicking to each doorway as they passed. He didn't seem to be nervous, however. It seemed more out of curiosity, or perhaps wonder, even.

Eventually they reached the doorway of the room designated as the testing site for the gravitational stabilization armor. Moira took a deep breath. The one-way mirrors were set up. Every object other than the stabilizers had been nailed or tied down. Vials of sedative had been placed around the room, hidden in multiple nooks and crannies for easy access should things spiral out of control.

"Is. . . this it?" The voice of Dr. de Kuiper brought her out of her thoughts. She shook herself back into reality and nodded.

She stepped up to the door and pressed the fingerprint scanner. The door slid open. She stepped inside, and Dr. de Kuiper trailed in behind her. He looked the greyscale room up and down, before his roving gaze finally settled on the gravitational stabilizers, hanging on the armor rack against the far wall. Straps and wires hung down from it, dangling just above the floor. They swayed slightly in an invisible breeze.

"This," Moira stepped up alongside of the armor, undoing the latches that held it in place, "is designed to help you control your powers."

The many knobbed plates that made up the shoulders of the armor began to wobble in place as Dr. de Kuiper's eyes went wide. He approached it slowly.

Moira continued. "We've been designing it since you came here. Theoretically, it should be in tune with your electromagnetic frequencies-"

"It's singing to me." He muttered quietly. His feet left the ground and he floated closer to it. The armor responded to his curiosity, the plates on the shoulders rising and floating with him. The straps and wires that once dangled were now lifted from the ground.

Moira reached one hand behind her to a crack in the wall to find a vial. With the other, she dug in her labcoat pocket and pulled out one of her monitoring tools. It was as quiet as ever. No fluxes were inbound. She steadied her breathing and released the vial.

"Can I try it on?" Dr. de Kuiper looked over to her and gestured at it.

"Yes, of course," she replied.

She guided the doctor underneath the armor rack and, undoing the last latch holding it in place, let the stabilizers gently drift down to rest on his shoulders. She strapped it down snugly and began plugging in some of the cords into the small center chest piece. Every time she accidentally brushed one of her hands against his body, he leaned into her touch. The thought crossed her mind that this man must had been touch-deprived for years, and she felt a pang of sympathy. She quickly shook it away though.

With the wires plugged into their proper places, she stepped away. Dr. de Kuiper was smiling. He bobbed up and down in the air. The shoulder plates responded in similar fashion, rippling softly with his power.

"How does it feel?" Moira asked.

He looked left and right to the shoulder plates. "It fits perfectly. Are these plates gravitational stabilizers? How do they work?"

She nodded. Sometimes it was easy to forget his intelligence. "Yes. I don't know the exact science of how they do their function, as I was just responsible for matching it with your biology."

"I see, I see." He mumbled and nodded rapidly. "I'll have to ask someone for the equations sometime."

"Do you like it?" The words came out before Moira could realize what she had said. How unscientific of her.

"Yes. Yes! It feels so. . . right." Dr. de Kuiper looked her in the eye. His eyes no longer were pale, but vivid.

"Good." She said shortly and avoided his gaze. "Now, if you are feeling stable, then it is necessary to test your control."

"My control?" He laughed and brought his hands up. "I'm perfectly in control. I've never had more."

"If that's true, then you can show me." Moira turned around to the table behind her. In a clear plastic container was a small blue ball. She undid the lid. "First, let's start with this-"

Her breath caught in her throat as she was lifted from the ground. A hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. She was face to face with Dr. de Kuiper.

"Don't panic." He responded, likely to her expression. "I have you. I'm in control."

He extended his hand, but instead of touching her it went over her shoulder. Slowly, she felt herself drift away from him. He pulled his hand back to his chest. She drifted forwards.

"I'm doing it. I'm doing it!" He giggled like a child. "Can you feel it?"

Moira nodded. He was 'doing it'. He was doing it rather gently, actually. Should she let him. . . continue? It would be difficult to get to the nearest sedative vial while in his grasp. Perhaps she should let him run his course.

He brought his hand up towards the ceiling, and she rose. She brought her own hands up when she sensed she was nearing the ceiling.

"No, no, don't worry. I won't let you hit your head." He wagged his finger. "That would not be control. Here, let's try something."

He rotated his hand. She felt herself begin to spin and tried to resist it, but the feeling only increased. Her body tumbled over. She came to rest gently on the ceiling, and after a short while it felt as if she was upright on the floor. Seeing the room beneath her (above her?) almost made her giggle. Out of nerves or wonder she wasn't sure. Awestruck. The correct phrase would be awestruck.

"Quite the different perspective, hmm?" Dr. de Kuiper rotated himself as well and joined her, sitting a short ways in front of her.

"We are on the ceiling." Moira said slowly as she looked down to the floor below.

"Your hypothesis is correct!" He smiled wider and laughed. "I have released us from our earthen harnesses. In your words, how does it feel?"

"Incredible, but," she looked back to him. She paused for just a moment longer. "Please put me down."

"Very well. I shall return you to your harness." He closed his eyes, and weightlessness returned.

He rotated his hand in a similar fashion as he had before, and they spun upright in line with the floor once more. Suddenly, gravity returned full force, and Moira fell to the ground. She landed roughly on her hands and knees.

Dr. de Kuiper dropped himself to the ground and knelt down beside her. "Oh! I'm sorry. That wasn't intentional. Are you alright?"

Moira looked up to his face. He no longer smiled. Instead he looked wholly concerned. No one had looked at her in that way in a long, long time.

"Yes, I'm fine." She responded.

"Good." He floated to an upright position once more and offered a hand down to her. "I would hate for anyone to get hurt because of me."

The words he had uttered broke the illusion of the moment. Talon had not broken this man out of solitary containment out of the goodness of their hearts. Nor had they hoped to ever rehabilitate him. He was a tool, a weapon, and the suit he wore was only so that Talon could finally utilize what they had gained. Hurt people he would, no matter his personal opinion on the matter.

Moira did not take his hand. She got up off the ground and looked past him to a mirror behind. From the other side watched Talon soldiers armed with shock darts, ready to break through the glass and disable her subject at any moment given her signal. Control.

There was no point in trying to make Sigma into anything else other than a test subject.

"You have done well, Dr. de Kuiper." Moira finally looked back to him, a familiar ice entering her voice.

"Thank you! Though really, I should be commending you and your team for making this possible." He gestured, oblivious, to the suit.

"It's time for you to return to your room. The stabilizers are still in an alpha stage. My team needs time to analyze all the readings we have gotten from you so far," she replied.

"You want me to. . . take it off?" His face sunk a little.

"For now. Only so that we can better improve it." She took a few steps back to the nearest sedative vial.

His lip quivered. "Please, let me stay in it. I feel stable. I fear that once I take it off, I won't be the same."

"Do not worry, Siebren." She said firmly.

"I don't want to lose control!" He cried. "Please, I don't want to take it off!"

Moira glanced over to the one-way mirror. She subtly signaled for the troopers to arm. She then focused back to him. "You must take it off. Don't get upset."

"I- I-," he stammered and hugged his arms around his waist. "No. Please!"

"Don't get upset." She repeated. "If you get upset, you may overwhelm the stabilizers."

That was a lie. Sigma's instability was not to the point where the stabilizers would be damaged, but that was not the point.

Sigma took rushed breaths. He closed his eyes and shook himself. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll calm down."

Moira touched his side and guided him back to the armor rack. She began undoing the straps and unplugging the many cords to slide the armor off. Still Dr. de Kui- no, subject Sigma leaned into her touch. He stared straight ahead. His eyes glistened with tears.

When the stabilizers were firmly attached the armor rack, Moira guided him out from underneath the structure. He still floated, suspended in the air. His movements were less crisp than they had been.

After taking more readings of his condition to ensure he would be stable enough for the trip back, Moira opened the door. Dr. De Kuiper floated forward into the hall absentmindedly. During the walk back to his room, his gaze never moved, and his expression was completely blank.

When they reached the double-door lock to his room, they sat in silence. Neither moved as the first, then the second, of the complex doors came undone. When the inner door finally opened, Sigma did not react. Moira gave him a gentle push on one of his arms, and he floated inwards.

Before the door closed, he spun to face her. For just a moment, his eyes regained their vividness. He gritted his teeth and his head shook. Tears rolled down his cheeks and floated in the air beside him. Then his gaze became distant once more, and he drifted back around, away.

His moment of clarity was gone. Dr. Siebren De Kuiper was taken from the world once more. In his place returned the broken fragments that was subject Sigma.

Sigma was the one that Talon could use. Sigma was the one able to be manipulated.

Less control. The gravitational stabilizers needed to provide less control, in order for the subject to remain vulnerable. It was a delicate balance. Not to much, not to little. Keep the idea of control dangling above his head, and let him desperately paw at it, while making sure to keep it just out of his reach.

Moira marked that thought down in her mental notes as she waited in the double-door lock again. Perhaps she would pace around the hallways outside for a while to fully ponder it before writing the progress report.


	6. B R O K E N

**TW: EXPLICIT GORE. HORROR.**

* * *

"Get out of the way! Get out of the way!" Nurse Rochelle screamed as she took point in rolling the gurney along.

Other doctors, nurses, and visitors quickly grouped to the sides of the hospital hallway. Rochelle did not take any notice of the way their faces looked down upon the man she was helping to wheel through to intensive care. She also did not notice the hum in the air and the faint nausea in her stomach, the way that the IV cord hooked up to the man in the gurney seemed to bob in the air in time with his breaths.

Rochelle helped to guide the gurney around the many corners of the hospital and into the ICU. The man now in her care she had a name for- Siebren De Kuiper, male, age 50- but exactly _what_ had happened to him she could not place. Nor was she told. All she knew was the news report she saw on the TV, about a space shuttle making an emergency landing from the International Space Station.

Rochelle directed the gurney to a room and immediately was overtaken by dozens of other doctors, all with their tools, clamoring to get a look at the mystery subject. Rochelle didn't understand. When the ambulance from the spaceport had arrived, she had checked in with the paramedics. His vitals were normal. His internal organs were all fine, and there was no outward bleeding as well. What was happening? Why all of the fuss?

She left the room as her vision became crowded with other medical staff. She had done her job, and that was all she could do. Perhaps later she could get the scoop from one of her coworkers. Perhaps Dr. Minho would spill the beans. He was a close friend of hers.

Rochelle was in the break room, getting a coffee, when her manager walked in. "You're up for patient check-up. ICU, room 64."

So here she was again, outside of the mystery patient's room. According to everyone she had asked, every doctor that had been in the room prior, nothing was. . . wrong with the man. Not yet, said one. Just wait. Yet his vitals remained normal, reported the machinery hooked up to him. It was her job to check and make sure the machinery was correct.

Rochelle took a deep breath and opened the door. It shut automatically behind her as she stepped in.

The air was still. It was a same sort of stillness she had encountered before, in a room where a patient was no longer alive. However, the chest of the man on the bed inside still rose and fell softly. His breath was a quiet wheeze, and it was almost drowned out by the static sound of the heartrate monitor. His eyes were closed, but twitching. Dreaming, perhaps. She only hoped for him that it wasn't a nightmare.

She felt a vague sense of deja vu as the feeling of nausea entered her stomach once more. It was almost the same feeling as if she was on a rollercoaster, just before a steep drop. She tried to shake it out of her mind as she crossed the room, but the feeling only increased. She stopped and tried to take deep breaths, but they were shaky and partial. What about this man was making her so anxious? It wasn't his condition. He looked perfectly serene, not even in any sort of pain. She swallowed the lump in her throat and approached his bedside.

A chill went up her spine as she felt something brush over the top of her head. She ducked instinctively, and brought her eyes upwards. A small metal probe floated in the air above her. She blinked. Imagining things. She must be imagining things.

Suddenly, the man gasped. His eyes shot open, and he jolted upright. Rochelle flinched backwards.

"Sir?! Sir, are you alright?" She reached out to him as she glanced over to the monitor displaying his vitals. His heartrate had spiked, but nothing else in his system had changed. Maybe he had been having a nightmare-

There was a feeling as if her stomach were rising up through her chest. She clutched her body. Her feet left the floor, and she floated upwards. Everything in the room was floating now. The vitals monitor, the IV bag, the bed, the man, everything.

The man trembled. He held his hands out like he was trying to hold some sort of ball, or contain something. He desperately squeezed inwards on it. Sounds, noises, that Rochelle eventually realized were screams, came from him yet he did not even move his mouth.

And then his head _glitched_. Parts of it blurred in and out of shadow and realness like it was being ripped apart. In an instant, Rochelle was slammed against the ceiling. The thin plasterboard broke from her weight and she was thrown against the many metal pipes and bundles of wires above. Pain blossomed in her back and legs. She struggled to keep her head up. Down? Up?

**"HOLD IT TOGETHER!"**

The ethereal shriek of a thousand voices pierced through the air and directly into her skull. She winced and shut her eyes. The words echoed, echoed through her brain until it was all she could hear, all she could think about.

Until her body was torn from its hold against the ceiling and jerked downwards. The air beneath her felt like an invisible wall as she fell, whipping her hair upwards and blowing her eyes open mere moments before the ground came up to meet her. She screamed, only to be cut off by impact.

There was shooting pain in every ounce of her body, but then a new sensation took over. Pressure. Unbearable pressure, squeezing her body against the cold floor. She felt bones begin to crack within her chest, and every breath she tried to wheeze felt like liquid fire in her lungs. Tears burned in her eyes. She cried for someone, anyone, to help, but then there was a piercing pain in her chest as something collapsed. Blood came pouring into her mouth, choking her screams.

Her vision was almost completely dark now. She could hear no noise other than an aching ring.

Her hold on the world ended suddenly and completely.

* * *

It could not be contained, it could not be contained! The station would be destroyed, the Earth would be consumed! He had to hold on, he had to hold on. . .

The infinitely dark orb between his hands slowly started to fade away, along with the room, and the station, and all the world entirely. All that was left was the darkness and him.

His heartbeat throbbed, faster and faster, in the infinite eternity. Terror gripped him in its claws and slowly squeezed. He struggled and kicked against its grasp.

It dropped him, and he was sling-shotted across the stars. Everything was spinning and the pin-pricks of light were at once blinding and invisible. He could feel their heat and their cold stroke him as he passed them by. He brought his knees to his chest. This was first a comforting motion, a way to tell where his body ended and the outside began, but he continued to bend further inwards into his own body. His limbs were sucked inside of him and he screamed.

He was thrown flat against a surface as smooth as glass. He couldn't move. Managing peeks through the glass he could see galaxies, countless galaxies, each with a heart of infinite darkness in its center, slowly swelling larger and larger and eventually consuming all the light in the universe. A sudden grief, not all of it his own, filled him and he burst into tears.

Then, something tickled the back of his consciousness. One small flickering light danced in his vision. He began to hear a faint. . . music. At once, his grief lifted, and something hopeful entered his chest. The light began to multiply and the music crescendoed.

The melody, the melody! What was that beautiful sound? It trailed across his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before entering his ears and exiting out his mouth. He exhaled equations into the air. Familiar equations of space and time and gravity swirled in front of him, yet they were different somehow. Fixed. Correct. He needed to write these down! Where was a marker? Where was a whiteboard?

The universe obliged. On his hand was a liquid, wet and warm, and the walls a sanitary white. He traced the numbers and symbols with a perfectly practiced precision. The walls overflowed and burst with pure starlight. The equations had become windows, the light of the universe pouring in through their lines. This was it! This was the breakthrough he had been looking for!

He heard voices muttering behind him. Was that the universe also? He turned to face them. Instead, he found humans. Mere humans! Their delicate faces looked frightened.

_"Do not worry," _he spoke gently to them, _"the universe is singing. Can you hear it?"_

The humans voices became louder. Screaming. They were drowning out the melody. He reached a hand out to signal their silence, but they persisted.

Suddenly, the humans ran towards him. They each grabbed one of his limbs, dragging him downwards, away from the stars!

_"NO!" _He shrieked, reaching upwards to the sky._"Don't you understand? The universe is singing to ME!"_

He felt something being pushed into his arm. The melody began to soften. He cried out to it, begging it to return and help him break free, but it responded only with a short caress on his cheek before fading entirely. The world around him disappeared and the darkness engulfed him once more.

* * *

Dr. Minho cautiously stepped into the room, or what remained of it. Immediately, the stench of blood hit him like he had walked into a brick wall. Whatever used to be in this room was now strewn about in an indecipherable matter. It was as if a tornado had swept through the place. The doctor shook his head.

The most disturbing part of all this laid as his feet. Being in the medical profession, Dr. Minho was used to seeing blood. Being a regular practitioner in the ICU, he was used to seeing horrifying injuries, and he considered himself to be rather tolerant of such things.

However, he could not bring his stomach to settle at the sight of this. The corpse was barely even recognizable as Nurse Rochelle anymore. The sides of her chest had exploded outwards, spilling her parts out to open air in a way reminiscent of a something splattering out of a bag filled to the point of bursting. Her head was now concave in shape, her skull shattered, with blood oozing from every crack of bone.  
Dr. Minho shuddered and tried to look away to a place where there wasn't blood, but it was pooled all over the floor.

The blood that wasn't on the walls, anyway. The walls were dripping with it. Blood drawn into lines that looked vaguely like. . . equations. The patient in this room had been a astrophysicist, had he not?

Dr. Minho closed his eyes. That patient was being transported with a full armored escort to a top-security mental institution right now. Hopefully somewhere far, far away from any sort of civilization. That man was dangerous: how or why he was did not matter and was not worth risking more lives to find out. That man- no, that murderer, that _freak_, did not deserve to see the light of day ever again.

Dr. Minho took one last look at the remains of Rochelle and prayed in vain that her death had been swift and merciful. He quickly left the room.


End file.
